


the wolves there in the skin of the sheep

by dogparty



Series: see me bare my teeth for you [2]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Developing Friendships, Gen, Grooming, Short One Shot, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-14 02:45:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19264372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogparty/pseuds/dogparty
Summary: Everyone mills around the camp like they can't hear the wolves fighting tooth and nail just shy of where they sleep, pushing each other into the dirt, ropes of spit flying from their wicked looking teeth.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another little fic to add to the pot, short as usual but this one will at least have another chapter. No overarching plots for this series still of course, other than me just wanting to write little looks into the world of RDR2 with some werewolf flavor added. 
> 
> Title is from "Buried in Water" by Dead Man's Bones.

If there was ever a time for Kieran to feel every bit like the kind of sniveling mouse that folk seemed to think he was, it was now. Sat firm on a large rock near the scout campfire, saddle hung over his thighs with a buffing brush slack in his hand, unable to look away from the whorl of teeth and fur tearing up the ground not ten feet from him.

Past the horse hitches, Arthur and John are wrapped around one another, coal black against sandy brown, snapping at each other's throats and snarling like demons from Hell. And Kieran is terrified.

The beasts are at it like they're out for blood, for death. Growling and kicking up dust, occasionally punching yelps out of each other that echo hard off of the trees that surround their camp. Kieran looks around, careful over his shoulder, expecting to see Dutch or Hosea or even Miss Grimshaw march over and tear them apart, but no such thing happens. Everyone mills around the camp like they can't hear the wolves fighting tooth and nail just shy of where they sleep, pushing each other into the dirt, ropes of spit flying from their wicked looking teeth. He feels like any second now, one of them will lose interest in the fight and attack whoever else is closest, that currently being Kieran himself. He should move, hide maybe, but he can't. Feels paralyzed.

"Hi Kieran," a voice speaks suddenly from over his shoulder, makes Kieran nearly jump out of his skin, brush tumbling out of his hand and to the ground. Nearly drops the saddle too, scrambles to grasp it proper and it straighten it atop his lap once more. 

He looks up at whoever had spoken to him, face flushing hot. "Oh uh-, hi Mary-Beth." He stammers, shifts in his seat, glances back over to the wolves.

John has squirmed out from a pin that Arthur had trapped him in, stands to bat hard at Arthur's haunches, makes to bite at his shoulders. Arthur swings his head around, whirls in place and chomps hard at John's narrow snout, teeth clicking loudly.

Mary-Beth follows Kieran's line of sight, tilts her head. "Fascinatin', isn't it?" She says, and Kieran does a double take. Looks from Mary-Beth's contemplative face to the wolves exhaustive fighting. "Uh, miss?" He asks, not quite sure what she's referring to.

"Them," She clarifies, dips her head toward John and Arthur. "Wolves, with the hearts 'n souls of men. It sure is somethin' else."

"I, I suppose.." Kieran says in reply, picks up his brush again and focuses on a scuff that mars the fine leather of the saddle. "Is that okay? Them fightin' like that?" He asks, feeling a little more at ease with Mary-Beth standing near him. The wolves surely wouldn't attack him with one of their own so close.

He's earned a laugh, Mary-Beth playfully taps at his shoulder. "They ain't fightin'!" She exclaims, "they're just havin' a bit of fun."

"Fun?!"

The look on her freckled face softens down to a gentle smile. "Sure, like puppies. Gets the energy out."

Kieran blinks dumbly, looks over to the wolves again. Arthur is now laid out on his belly, legs sprawled in front of him, tongue lolling out from his mouth as he pants like a hard rode horse, breath streaming out into the air. John side steps around him, grumbles like he wants his opponent to get back up. He only paces for a few moments before sitting down, his back to Arthur, lifts a hind leg to scratch hard at his ear.

Mary-Beth is then leaning into his sight, crisp ringlets of her hair catching the sunlight. "Kieran," she says, "you afraid of them?"

"Course I'm afraid of 'em!" Kieran exclaims, forces his voice to a quieter volume, "just look at 'em.." He trails off as Mary-Beth's expression sours a bit, just a tilted quirk between her eyebrows, corners of her mouth creasing. "That what ridin' with the O'Driscolls taught you?" She asks, it's less of a question and more of a statement, just a slight edge to her voice.

It throws Kieran for a loop, and he's sitting there with his mouth agape, suddenly feeling like a fool. "Well.." He starts, but isn't able to properly find the words.

She definitely isn't wrong. Kieran didn't know much about werewolves growing up, heard talk of them. Regular folk spoke of them like they were pests mostly, something less than human and certainly deserving of a bullet, no different than a wild wolf. But he'd never really given much thought to them, until he'd saddled up with the O'Driscoll gang.

A relatively simple group of thieves and criminals, well armed with a decent hold on the land they moved through, with a notable hobby of hunting werewolves for sport. For fun. Killed them to sell their wolf skins, killed them to earn money, killed them for the hell of it. Kieran had never gone out with those boys whenever they decided to go 'hunting', laughing and stinking of alcohol, shining their knives and grinning ever so wickedly, but he was there for their often 'triumphant' returns. Talking about the wolves they'd hunted and cornered, used wolfsbane to force them to change into their human skins, poisoning and weakening them with silver and listening to their ragged screams as they tortured them, gutted and killed them. Occasionally they'd bring back pelts, bloody and looking hastily skinned, larger than any wolf Kieran had ever seen in his life.

"They look human but they ain't", he'd been told."It's just a trick they pull, to make you lower your guard. And the second you turn your back, you'll get teeth in your neck. They'll kill anything that moves, don't matter if it's a woman nor a child; that's why we gotta kill 'em all."

He'd believed them, not knowing much better. Always one to listen and follow. Truly thought that once Arthur had wrangled him down, dragged him back to their hideout through that snowstorm that he'd be killed. Ripped apart, eaten. Now he just felt... stupid. Unable to keep the heat from his face, he looks up at Mary-Beth. "I- I guess that is what they taught me." He tells her honestly, feels undeniably guilty at the look that slowly washes over her face, angry pinch between her brows turning somber.

She gestures over to where John and Arthur are, now both lazily laying in the sun. Jack has wandered over to the two of them, is sat atop John's back, fingers curled in the thick fur on his shoulders. John pays him no mind, massive head laid over his paws, eyes drooping. A beast of his size could end Jack's life with a quick snap of the teeth, it would take no effort at all. But he lays placid and gentle as his son plays some little game, yips and rocks like he's riding a horse.

"Them? They're good men," she says, stern. "Good as they can be, anyhow." She steps around to sit next to Kieran; he's careful to move over a bit, makes sure that there's a few inches between them.

"The O'Driscolls.." Mary-Beth sighs once she's sat down, hands smoothing out the wrinkles that rumple up her pretty skirt. "They're just thoughtless killers." She looks over to the wolves again. Jack's now sitting between the two of them, drawing loose shapes in the dirt with a stick. Arthur lifts his head and pushes his snout against Jack's neck, pulls a happy little giggle out from him, sniffs at his ear and blasts hot breath through his soft hair. "Killin' their kind without a thought, don't matter if they've never hurt a soul. All because of what they are." She returns her gaze to Kieran, green eyes hard and firm on him, she leans in close again. "Don't you think that's wrong?"

Kieran is struck for a moment, feeling very put on the spot. He clears his throat and pushes the old saddle from his thighs to the ground, drops the brush beside it with a light thud, folds his fingers together. "You're right, Mary-Beth," he says, sheepish. Tucks his chin close to his chest, "I just don't really know, about all of this. But.. I am runnin' with you now, so.."

"So expect better?" She says, smiles a bit, soft as usual and far more kind than Kieran deserves. "I don't blame you for being a little.. nervous about what we have here but, I ain't a wolf and they've never eaten me. So I think you'll be just as fine."

"Right," Kieran replies, presses his lips together and shakes out his shoulders, mind racing a bit, heart like a rabbit in his chest. 

"I should be fine."

Mary-Beth pats his hand; gentle and warm, then stands up, smooths out her skirt again. "Course you'll be fine." She tells him, grinning as she saunters off to begin her daily chores, "you _are_ one of us now, after all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Kieran, living on borrowed time.
> 
> Comments and the like are very much appreciated!
> 
> [tumblr](https://coyotebrush.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the rest! I'm really enjoying writing these, hopefully I'll be able to write plenty more.

The careful days that follow see Kieran snaking through camp on light feet; he's not really allowed to leave yet, not alone anyway. So he busies himself with chores and the like, settles amongst the horses, much like he did with the O'Driscolls, and makes to keep their hides shiny, hooves clean and bellies full. The horse work is not his alone; Charles, John, and Arthur often take the time to feed the animals or give them a quick brush down, but their own work outside of the camp leaves the brunt of it to Kieran.

He doesn't mind of course, enjoys spending time with the quiet creatures. Works as diligently as he can to earn his keep; to remain in the good graces of Dutch and his gang, or pack. Whatever the term is. He's untangling burs and stickers from the lacy tail of Maggie, Lenny's horse, when Arthur rides into camp, dead doe hung over the rump of his own horse.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kieran watches as Arthur dismounts, takes a moment to pat the horse's broad neck before removing the deer. He slings the carcass over his shoulder, easy, and saunters on toward Pearson's wagon. It's throat is ripped out; shredded.

Kieran picks the rest of the tangles and debris from Maggies's tail, and carefully approaches Arthur's horse. There's a bit of blood smeared along her hindquarters, stark and bright against her ice white hair. He looks around and spots a bucket of water near one of the hitches, pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket and soaks it before returning to the horse, puts a careful hand on her flank so he doesn't frighten her and gently starts to wipe the blood away.

Arthur's horse is named Pearl, he thinks. Reckons it fits her, for her small size and pale coat, slick in the sunlight. She turns her head and looks at him with soft brown eyes before focusing her attention one of the bales of hay laid out near the hitch.

He wonders idly to himself why the horses aren't afraid of the wolves; given how naturally inclined the animals are to being spooked. Maybe he'll ask someone about it, if he can work up the courage.

"Makin' friends?"

Kieran is practically jumping out of his skin as Arthur is just there, leaning against the horse hitch, looking at him expectantly. Either everyone in the camp has mastered the art of stealth or Kieran desperately needs to get his ears checked over.

"I uh, I can stop.." He stammers, makes to step away. Arthur merely shrugs, steps around the hitch to pet at Pearl's face, hands light over her wide cheeks. She snorts in his face.

"S'alright," Arthur says, shrugs. "Unless you're fixin' to steal her, ride back to your old gang." His voice his suddenly so hard and sharp that Kieran is visibly flinching, scrambling to find the right words, chest filling with cold. He doesn't have to think that long, as Arthur is then barking out an airy laugh, hooks a hand over his belt and steps wide around Kieran. "Just kiddin'," he's saying, throws a look over his shoulder. 

Kieran can see dried blood staining the corner of his mouth.

He forces himself to loosen his white knuckled hold on the handkerchief, grins shakily at Arthur. "Yeah," he fumbles. "Sure."

Arthur only looks at Kieran for a moment longer before he's cutting across camp toward Dutch's tent, shaking his head lightly and chuckling a bit to himself.

It's then that Kieran notices something about the wolf that he hadn't before; the cool green shapes of Arthur's irises are much larger than they would be on normal folk. Taking up so much space on his eyes that the whites of them are just barely visible. It sends a light shiver down his spine.

\----

The following day, as Kieran is running a brush over the coat of his own horse, a beast slips out from the bushes; moves so quietly that he barely makes a sound. It's Arthur, Kieran knows this but he freezes hard at the sight anyway. He's ignored for his trouble, Arthur slinking past with his head held low, moving at a sluggish, tired pace. He scratches hard at the shaggy fur on his neck before shaking his skin out, loose hair flying up like feathers, then lowers himself to the ground near one of the tables, out of the way, head down on his paws.

Kieran watches him for a moment, his mind working slowly. Arthur's pelt is filthy; paws almost black with mud, light red stains around his neck and snout, clearly blood. Old shed hair wadded sloppily along his hide.

Careful, he steps away from Branwen, brush in his hand. Approaches Arthur like he would a spooked horse, slow and deliberate. Arthur lifts his head when Kieran gets within a few feet, stopping him in his tracks. He stands there like a struck idiot, not too sure how to explain his actions. "Um.." he starts, fumbles and lifts the brush, waggles it a little bit for Arthur to see. Feels very much like he's staring into the face of a mindless animal, one that would kill him if he got too close. Though that's not entirely ruled out yet.

Whether Arthur gets the picture, he doesn't really know, but continues on anyway. Expects Arthur to growl at him, maybe just get up and walk away; but he doesn't. Just lays his head back down, sighs loudly through his peach colored nose.

Kieran swallows, lowers his slightly shaking hand and moves to crouch carefully next to the wolf. He doesn't have much experience with long and thick pelts like this, what with horses having such short, stiff hair. But brushing is an easy skill, and he's determined to do... something. Wants to make some sort of effort; feels guilty for actions he hadn't ever taken. The weight of the world's disdain for werewolves pressing hard on his shoulders, _especially_ now that he's running with a gang full of them, his recent brief talk with Mary-Beth settled heavy in his mind. The many wolves that the O'Driscolls had gleefully killed.

He places a hand on Arthur's flank, rising and falling gently as he breathes. Quickly and wordlessly, Kieran runs the brush through his thick hide, catches the shed clumps on the bristles of the thing. He pulls the tangled clumps out once the brush becomes full and discards them to a pile on his right, continues to use the brush to tug the old fur off from the wolf's shoulders and haunches. Grooms as best as he can until no more of it remains, runs his hand over Arthur's now much cleaner fur, smooth and soft from a job well done.

It's a quiet moment of just being, thoughts of deadly teeth and blood pushed out of Kieran's head as he focuses on and finishes up his self assigned task. Arthur is quite still and patient as Kieran rids him of the annoying clods of fur that had refused to come loose no matter how hard he shook himself off or rolled in the dirt.

"You look like a regular ol' lap dog, Arthur!" Karen is chiming loudly as she strides past, steaming cup of coffee in her hand, straw blonde hair freshly curled into tight ringlets.

Kieran stops, purses his lips against a laugh that bubbles up and leans away from Arthur a bit, admires his handiwork and then looks between the two wolves, is prepared for Arthur to stand up to her mild challenge. He hasn't seen what her wolf skin looks like yet, it'd be a lie to say that he wasn't curious.

But Arthur simply rolls over onto his side, stretches his legs out; utterly mollified by the considerate care he'd just received. Karen snorts and waves him off, takes a heavy drag off her coffee.

"Lazy bastard," she remarks in jest, then looks at Kieran, expression characteristically wolfish. "Can you do me next? Lord knows my coat hasn't seen some love in a long time."

"Ah," Kieran stammers dumbly, "um." His face is suddenly burning, and he's looking anywhere but Karen's face. To his left, there's a kind of wheezing noise, a sound that's both human and not so human at the same time, and he's only flushing all the more when he realizes that Arthur is laughing at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my own playthough of the game, I used the white Arabian as my main horse. From the moment I caught her right to the end, what a good girl. I called her Pearl.
> 
> Comments and the like are very much appreciated!
> 
> [tumblr](https://coyotebrush.tumblr.com)


End file.
